


Franklin

by midnightdown (sailorsuga)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Child Abandonment, Child Murder, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorsuga/pseuds/midnightdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Could you remind me of a time when we were so alive?’<br/>-<br/>Saint Christopher’s was an orphanage like any other; being held in a rather large stoned institution right in the middle of Doncaster and the staff consisted of too-strict nuns, with their scowling faces and long black robes that Louis couldn’t help but grimace at because they weren’t the same as his mother’s. And residents were the large amount of kids who scurried about the building, laughing loudly and smiling as if there was no reason for them being here. Like everything was okay.</p>
<p>Maybe Louis was the only one with sense around here; or maybe he was just too pessimistic to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Franklin

**Author's Note:**

> (2010/11 Steph): I’m kind of uneasy about this one; I don’t know. It’s really long and my first serious Nouis so yeah :/ I hope you like it. This was a request from the Nandos to my Niall, Nat and after I heard the song; I had to do it. Hope you like it! Especially you Nat because I wrote all this shit for you 
> 
> (2015 Steph): PLEASE IGNORE MY CHEESY NANDOS REF AT THE BEGINNING OK I'M CRINGING MY DAMN SELF  
> Anyways, you know the drill: spelling/grammar errors, a whole bunch of inaccuracies about the way orphanages work, and ooc too I think. There's also a lot of reference to past child/domestic abuse, one of the characters suffer from trauma after witnessing a murder-suicide, there's reference to child abandonment. If any of this triggers you, don't read this please.

Saint Christopher’s was an orphanage like any other; being held in a rather large stoned institution right in the middle of Doncaster and the staff consisted of too-strict nuns, with their scowling faces and long black robes that Louis couldn’t help but grimace at because they weren’t the same as his mother’s. And residents were the large amount of kids who scurried about the building, laughing loudly and smiling as if there was no reason for them being here.

Like everything was okay.

Maybe Louis was the only one with sense around here; or maybe he was just too pessimistic to let go.

It rained a lot where he was; and he wished he could say that the rhythm the raindrops made on the rooftops could’ve at least lulled him to sleep and calmed the nightmares.

But it didn’t and Louis hadn’t slept a day since he got there.

And from when Sister Cheryl guided him down the long, winding halls, he didn’t talk and they only knew his name because the police officer had told them; and he glared at the kids who waved from their rooms and he shook off the hands of the nuns who attempted to touch him as if they could ever truly understand and empathize with him

He didn’t like this place.

It wasn’t home.

The white walls weren’t inviting; blinding was a better description; and he didn’t like how loud it always was and he didn’t like dinners at long tables and with other kids and he didn’t like the cot he had to sleep on and how the covers were never warm enough and the rooms were always crowded.

He just wanted to leave; he just wanted to go home.

_This is home._

_\--_

_“It’s scary to think about but back then; I didn’t want to leave the house. I didn’t want to go to a safer place; so I hated the orphanage. I wanted to stay in that house and I wanted to… die with my mother and sister. I felt like leaving the house would be like leaving them behind. I never wanted to do that.”_

_\--_

Sister Mary Byrne didn’t like meddling; she never did. She had no right to. The majority of these children had absolutely nothing; their parents were either dead or off living their lives freely after leaving their newborn child on their doorstep without a second thought; most of these kids cried themselves to sleep thinking about where their mommy and daddy were; why they couldn’t go and see them and, you better believe, that it was so hard for her not to cry with them when she had to make up another excuse time and time again.

Some of them would never understand.

She had hoped that within a few weeks, Louis would’ve learned to adapt at least a bit like everybody else had; to come to terms with the fact that some things would never return and you have to learn to live without them.

Then, she remembered he was still an eight-year old child and was still traumatized after what he witnessed.

Louis Tomlinson was brought to them covered in someone else’s blood.

 She can still remember how the red covered his small face like a mask and stained his shirt with splattered little crimson droplets and Mary would never forget how wide his eyes were that day; how he walked robotically because he was still so petrified and how long it took for Sister Cheryl to wash that cerise liquid off his body before it dried.

The children had all whispered and stared at him but he was oblivious to it all as he stumbled down the hallway with the most emptiest look Mary had ever seen—and she’s seen plenty.

Working in an orphanage; you had to hear tragedy over tragedy; see self destruction; and basically feel every single emotion these kids went through.

She had to struggle not to show all her emotions when the police officer had told them how Louis’ parents had died. She was thankful the boy was halfway down the hall so he wouldn’t have to hear it; relive it.

_“The father killed the mother and daughter. Slit the wife’s throat with a whiskey bottle and then stabbed the baby girl through the heart. The bastard shot himself later on in the head with a pistol in front of the boy. I think he knew exactly what kind of impact it was going to leave on him.”_

And what an impact it was.

Louis didn’t really move from his room since he got there. It was like he had determined from the very beginning he was going to isolate himself; as soon as he arrived in his already crowded room, deciding to go for the cot in the farthest corner and lying there; his cold blue eyes—too cold for someone his age to have—trained on the wall and his back to his roommates in an obvious message to leave him alone.

And, once again, Mary didn’t like to meddle; but she would.

 “Dinner, children!!” Sister Mary’s Irish accent echoed throughout the long hallways where the kids rooms were at and she smiled as the kids rushed from the bedrooms, the sound of their bare feet like a stampede and their laughs mixing in with one another’s as they usually did.

She kept track of every little figure that would speed past her, making sure they all got to the tables in the dinner hall, mumbling their names as they passed.

_“Harry, Cher, Aiden, Liam, Rebecca, Zayn…”_

And as she finished with the kids who stayed in room 13, she couldn’t help but notice that one of them was missing.

Mary bit her lip in concern as she looked down the long hallway that held room 13 and she frowned. She knew he’d try to miss dinner again; its been two weeks and he still refused to eat anything served to him, choosing to drink water only and then quickly returning to his room and lying in his cot; unmoving and silent; almost comatose.

She peeked in his room hesitantly and her heart sank seeing him in the same position he had been since he had arrived but she took some hesitant steps in nonetheless.

“Hey, Louis.” She tested and she didn’t get a response from him.

She tried again.

“Its dinner time, you know.” She stated. “You should eat; its been two days, love.”

“Did my mom cook it?” the boy asked and his voice was breaking and Mary knew he had been crying before she came in.

Maybe it was stupid, but she kept track of every time he cried; every time she passed by the door that read  _‘13’_  on the right side of the hall and she heard little hiccups and gasps and cries for a mother that’d never return in the middle of the night or when it was no longer crowded by his noisy roommates.

It’s been ten times already.

And she shouldn’t have counted because these kids cry everyday; but its been a while since they had a new one and its been a while since they’ve heard crying over parents because the other kids already knew what happened and were, to some extent, content with it or were able to live with that truth.

They’ve healed and adapted.

He hasn’t and she suspected its because he was there; and he witnessed it; and he didn’t die with them; just left to live with the horrifying image stuck in his head and Mary had silently wondered which one was really better.

 “…No.” she muttered, and she felt bad for not being able to say anything better as her eyes went to her feet.

“Then I don’t want it.”

“Louis, you have to—“

Before Mary could finish, Louis was turned around in his bed and screaming at her just like he had done all the other nuns before, tossing his tear-stained pillow at her and fresh tears running down his pink face, getting redder the more he shouted.

“NO! Get out! GET OUT!!! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!! I HATE THIS PLACE!!!!” he cried and now he was throwing other children’s pillows and toys and pajamas and shoes and whatever else he could pick up because he didn’t want to talk; he didn’t want to make friends; he didn’t want to eat; he didn’t even want to breathe because it hurt.

It plagued him.

When he threw all he could, he had fallen to his knees brokenly and allowed the tears to flow down his face as he sobbed; hiccupping and gasping and the pillow that he initially planned to throw lying limp in his tiny hands.

And with a shaky frown, getting worse with her blurred vision thanks to the tears, Mary backed out of the room slowly, shaking as she shut the door.

And when the door clicked, Louis let out a scream.

_“I hate this place…”_

_\--_

_“Niall Horan is the definition of happiness. He was what I needed; whether I knew it at the time or not.”_

_\--_

Niall Horan is the very example of a miracle.

He had arrived at St. Christopher Orphanage in the middle of December and it was rumored that Sister Nicole had found him half-dead and buried in snow during a blizzard but when he came, he didn’t even look it. Of course, he was shaking and he had been barraged with blankets the very second he step foot onto the carpeted floors and had been forced to sit by a heater; but he arrived half-dead, cold to the point that his skin felt like actual ice, and he was smiling.

Louis would soon come to learn that nothing made the small boy frown (except him) and that the  whispers in his room about Niall Horan’s back story that he drowned out easily because he didn’t care much for anything that happened here were very much true.

And that none of it effected Niall what so ever.

_“I heard they found him in snow…”_

_“Sister Mary says he’s only six.”_

_“I heard Sister Cheryl say that they can’t find his parents. Maybe his parents left him like mine did.”_

That night, Niall was assigned room 13 and he shared a makeshift bed with Harry because there weren’t anymore available and Harry was always eager to meet new children.

“I’m Harry Styles!!” Harry had exclaimed when the small boy had stepped into the room and Sister Cheryl gave him a look that was obviously scolding his loud behavior.

“Don’t be so loud, Harry, he’s right here.” She told him and Harry nodded though it’d happen again.

“This is Niall,” she said and while all the others marveled at him—with his pale skin and freckles and auburn hair—Louis’ back faced them and he drowned out the noise as he focused on the wall. He didn’t care for new kids; he didn’t want to but, despite this, he heard when Niall spoke.

“Nice to meet you! Do you have food?”

And the kids’ replies were jumbled as they rushed to show Niall the kitchen and Louis’ eyes were wide at the sound of the boy’s voice because it was so familiar and it chilled to the bone. And he didn’t turn around because he knew it wouldn’t be her, but he whispered her name shakily.

_\--_

_“I had already grown up even before the orphanage. I didn’t want to accept it at the time but I always had. No one else could be trusted at home but me and my sister; and that’s all we relied on. That’s not logic for a regular kid.”_

_\--_

_“Mommy, no!”_

_“Fuck off, brat!”_

_Louis let out a loud cry as his father’s fist came in hard contact with his jaw, sending him flying backwards and hitting his bare, scarred back against the hardwood floors with a loud smack._

_And he remembered how much it stung when it hit and he felt every beating that man had ever given him; every slap and punch and kick and cut; it all came back and little tears ran out of his baby blue eyes as his back arched off the floor._

_Lottie sobbed as she rushed to her brother’s aid, little feet padding across the floor as she held her arms out and practically fell on top of him in a desperate effort to shield him; protect him; do whatever she could to stop this from happening._

_Her salty tears stung Louis’ scratches._

_“You fucking slut! You think I don’t know?! Huh?!”_

_Louis’ mother trembled in the corner of the kitchen as she looked up at her husband with wide, terrified blue orbs that Louis would come to hate in later years every time he’d look in a mirror and her mouth refused to close as her breath hitched._

_“So who did you fuck to get these little bastards, huh?! TELL ME!”_

_Louis wasn’t sure what was happening; what his father meant but he held close to Lottie as he shouted at his mother, as he broke glass whiskey bottles and flung them at her._

_He wished he was bigger._

_Then, he’d save everybody._

_He couldn’t think like that anymore, though._

_Not as the sharpened ends of the bottle sliced through his mothers throat and not as he screamed and fought when his father pulled up Lottie by her long, golden hair and plunged the bottle deep in her tiny chest._

_And definitely not when he pulled out that silver pistol; and the way it gleamed in the moonlight shining through the kitchen window in such a horrifying way that Louis would plagued by it for years; and put it right to his temple._

_And his father flashed him a haunting smile as he pulled the trigger and his blood splattered Louis as a sick reminder of this night._

_This night Louis would never forget._

_This night his father wanted him to always relive._

_\--_

_“Of course Niall would be the one to kick start the relationship; he was always the leader; always the center of attention; that was just Niall. He helped in a lot of ways by just being there.”_

_\--_

The first thing Niall noticed about him was his eyes.

And Niall knew that most people didn’t notice them because there were so many more interesting people than anti-social Louis Tomlinson; like Zayn and his drawings or Harry and his wild imagination or even Liam with his Toy Story action figures but Niall could only do so much with them until it got repetitive.

So talking to the weird kid was a natural thing to do; for him anyway. He didn’t really care when the other kids told him it was a bad idea. And maybe its because he thought the boy needed a friend or he was just stubborn by nature but he did it anyway.

_“He’ll just be mean to you, Niall!”_

_“He doesn’t even talk.”_

_“He’s weird!”_

Niall was the king of conversation; even at six years old, there was just something about him that made you want to be his friend; to talk to him and know him and just be with Niall Horan. And maybe it was his smile or how he laughed at absolutely everything or how he’d drop everything to cheer up anybody who was in a sad mood.

Niall Horan radiated happiness. It didn’t even matter that his parents gave him up; he’d never know them anyway, right? And that’s just how he saw it.

So he marched over to the corner of the play-room in his oh-so-Niall way where the little boy had taken refuge and bent down to look him face to face. But Louis’ hair had grown since he had gotten there and hung just above his collarbone so it hid his face perfectly.

Niall couldn’t have that.

The older boy let out a loud gasp when he felt a hand on his forehead, holding onto his knees tighter than he already had as he looked up into curious sapphire eyes.

And while Niall smoothed back his hair for reasons Louis didn’t quite understand at the time, he saw Lottie. Sweet Lottie with her inquisitive eyes and pale skin and happy demeanor and it was so hard not to cry when he looked at Niall. But he promised himself he wouldn’t cry here.

He got sympathy here.

He didn’t want it

 “…Your eyes are pwetty.” The boy finally said, determining this in his head and Louis furrowed his brow.

“H-huh?”

Niall blinked in confusion; as if all of this was obvious.

“I said your eyes are pwetty. I had to move your hair to see ‘em cuz its so long! They’re blue like mine, see?” Niall said and he extended his eyelids as if Louis wouldn’t have been able to see them otherwise and Louis blinked.

“…Yeah, they are. Yours are better, though.” He murmured and Niall scrunched up his face in confusion.

“No they’re not; they’re both awesome!” Niall exclaimed suddenly and Louis couldn’t help the slight jump he gave at the boy’s loudness.

That’s when the boy slid beside him in the corner and he felt slightly uncomfortable so close like this; because he had only ever been this close to Lottie but he was too nervous to speak up. So he just let the boy talk to him, their shoulders bumping occasionally.

“How come you’re not playing?” he questioned and Louis shrugged.

“I don’t want to…” he mumbled and he let his chin rest against his knees, eyes roaming the room as kids raced across the red padded floor, throwing toys and playing with fake food and legos.

He used to have all of that, too, he thought.

“Why?” Niall asked again and Louis chose to give him short answers; not really used to actually talking to someone here and not really wanting to.

“I don’t like it here.” He said and, at the time, he thought that was seriously the case because he was too little to know anything deeper than that.

And it was quiet for a while, the two boys not having much to say after that and they just watched the others together in silence and Louis hoped that would be the end of it because this had to be the most awkward feeling he’s ever had.

Then Niall spoke again and it was the last thing he said to him that day.

“…You should try to.” Niall spoke and he pushed himself to his feet.

“We’ll probably be here for a long time. You shouldn’t spend all that time by yourself.” Niall smiled at him one last time before running off to Liam and the others.

“Your pwetty eyes shouldn’t look so sad.”

And he was gone.

And Louis literally didn’t know what to think.

\--

_“I don’t know why he wasted time with me but he did. Niall is the kind of person who doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done; he just thinks you deserve to smile at least once. Sometimes, I thought I was a job. And that as soon as I let him see me smile; he’d leave because he did his job. But he never did.”_

\--

Louis could remember that the very next day, Niall came back.

And he didn’t expect it to happen again because no one came back to Louis; nobody wasted their time with Louis because he didn’t respond or even pretend like he was getting better.

And maybe its because he didn’t want to; getting better would involve being happy while your family was dead; getting better involved forgetting; and acting like it never happened; and acting like it didn’t effect you at all.

He refused to do that.

He kind of thought (maybe even hope a little) that Niall didn’t return; and left him alone like everybody else but when Niall marched over to him and dropped a pile of legos in front him without warning or introduction, he thought otherwise.

“We’re playing legos.” Niall stated and it was more of an order and fact than it was a request.

“We’re gonna make a castle.” He continued and he sat down on the other side, grabbing some red blocks and connecting them. Niall looked up when he saw Louis wasn’t doing the same before tossing some yellow ones at him.

“Come on!” he shouted and Louis flinched a little. “I can’t do it by myself!” Niall moaned with a pout and Louis just held the yellow blocks in his hand, frozen because he wasn’t sure what to do; how to act because he still wasn’t comfortable here; with anybody.

Then Niall’s hand covered his and guided it to the red stack he had made, right on top and Niall let out a satisfied chuckle.

“Just connect them, silly.” He said and Louis just looked at him for a minute, absolutely puzzled at his strange behavior.

He was used to being ignored; for people to just give up.

He wasn’t used to friendship; or whatever this was.

Not since what happened, anyway.

“…Why are you talking to me?” he asked finally and Niall stopped right when he was about to grab another block, looking into Louis’ stone cold blue eyes.

Niall thought they looked too old to belong to an eight-year old; they looked like the untrusting nuns and the strict founder’s.

Not a kid’s.

“You’re sad all the time. And I don’t like it. You shouldn’t be. We all get sad sometimes because we miss our mommies and daddies but…” Niall bit his lip in thought; trying to find the words in his small vocabulary.

“We have a new family here so you can be happy again.”

And Niall grabbed the blue lego like what he said was something usual; as if he simply said hello.

That was the thing about Niall; he never knew what he was doing; he never knew what kind of effects he had.

And maybe that was a good thing.

So Niall always came back from that day on; and he always brought new games for Louis to play until they got too big to find legos and fake food fun anymore; and while Louis would like to believe none of this really mattered to him.

He couldn’t help but feel that surge of happiness go through his body at least once when Niall would smile at him.

Yeah, it wasn’t a friendship.

Not at all.

\--

_“He was always there; even when I didn’t want him to be. My view of friendship was still blurred by nightmares at the time.”_

\--

Louis came to learn in later years that it took a lot to deter Niall away.

Because when the boy had his goal set on something, he didn’t let go and sometimes Louis found it quite stupid and he’d often remind Niall of that, not like he expected him to listen because that was simply how things were.

Louis was twelve when he thought Niall was officially insane.

Because it had been four long years of denial and ungratefulness on Louis’ part whenever Niall would declare him his friend and hung around with him shamelessly despite the stares he got from the other kids.

Because Louis was a freak and Niall was sunshine; some things just didn’t match.

But he appeared to be the only one out of the two who cared.

He had ran away, once, and when he did it the second time, it was always to the same busy road; the one only Niall knew how to find because he knew his Louis better than anyone.

“You tried to run away again.”

Louis scowls as he turns his face from Niall, ignoring the freezing rain on his skin and the water streaming down his face and drenching him like a waterfall because Louis was old enough to do this alone.

It was just rain; didn’t mean much.

“I  _did_ run away you idiot,” he sneers in his oh-so-bitter Louis Tomlinson way and Niall raises an eyebrow quizzically.

“You’re not doing too well on your own.” He murmurs cheekily and Louis’ head shoots up to glare at him from in between soaking wet bangs that had been plastered to his forehead and Niall laughs because he doesn’t look very intimidating that way; he was never intimidating actually.

Even though everyone else considered him rude and scary, that’s never been the case with Niall and Sister Mary would say its because of his hard-head and Sister Cheryl will say its because of his kind heart—like Louis was some sort of charity case.

But Niall would say its because of Louis; crazy awesome Louis.

Even if he is soaking wet.

“You’ll catch a cold.” Niall says to the older boy who, really, was acting like the younger one here; using that scolding voice that Sister Mary always uses on him and Harry when they decided to do something they weren’t supposed to do.

Louis doesn’t reply only sniffles and shoves his head deeper into his knees; avoiding eye contact and shaking.

He was cold.

Niall frowned a bit in frustration. “Do you want my umbrella?” he asks and Louis shakes his head furiously, slinging a little bit of water on Niall.

“No…” he mumbles, tone attempting to be defiant but failing miserable with that tired baby voice of his.

Niall blinks. “But then you’ll get sick. You don’t wanna get sick, do ya?”

“…I don’t care.” Louis murmurs.

Well, of course, Niall would have none of that.

“I do.” He states, stubbornly and firmly and the Louis glances up at him rapidly, eyes wide and surprised. “So take it.”

Niall shoves the handle in the boy’s cold, tiny hand forcefully and closes his fingers over it. Louis stares at him; shocked and not sure what to do.

Niall smiles at him.

“You should come back to the orphanage now; I know how you hate it when I call it home.”

Needless to say, Louis got a hell of a scolding when he got back.

\--

_“The weird thing about Niall is that he could actually empathize with somebody like me. With the way he laughed and joked and smiled, you often forgot that he was the miracle boy; the boy whose parents left him in the cold for dead. I forgot that he had lost just as much as I had. The only difference between us was that Niall was stronger and could handle it; had that been me; there’s no doubt I would’ve just let myself die in the snow.”_

\--

“Your skin’s always cold.”

Niall snickered mischievously when Louis jumped from Niall’s unexpected touch on his face , brushing Niall’s freezing cold hand away quickly because he hated how unnaturally icy they felt; like the skin of a dead person.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Niall replied, laughing a bit as he examined his pale hands with a crooked—yet oh-so bright and happy—smile. “It’s good for scaring Liam…and you of course. You two are the easiest. Cher just punches me.”

Louis snorted at Niall, muttering a snarky “serves you right, I hope she does it again” to which Niall replied to by sticking out his tongue childishly; as always.

They were in their room as per usual; Louis didn’t really like leaving it that much. He stil wasn’t comfortable here and his behavior still didn’t show signs of improvement and his nightmares in the middle of night certainly proved that he wouldn’t get better anytime soon.

Niall really didn’t mind it; he’d stay in with Louis whenever because, honestly, he thought it was more fun anyway. Contrary to popular belief; Louis wasn’t mean or boring at all.

Scared, maybe, but never boring.

Not to Niall anyway.

 “I think I’m still warming up.” Niall spoke and Louis raised an eyebrow at him.

“Warming up?” he questioned to which Niall nodded vigorously, holding up his hand as if that’d be a perfect example of his strange statement.

“Yeah; I almost died in snow, you know. Maybe that’s why I’m always so cold…I don’t even feel it anymore.”

Louis blinked at Niall’s reply.

It was a bizarre one, like most of Niall’s statements; really anything that came out of Niall’s loud mouth so he couldn’t be surprised but, as he watched Niall move his hands around, images of the little blonde boy with skin almost blue and his head poking out of the heavy wool sheets flashed through his mind.

He remembered; he had almost forgotten how Niall ended up here now in the first place.

“It’s been a few years now, though. You should be warm.” Louis spoke; logically since he couldn’t see much past that at this point.

“…Maybe its just a reminder.” Niall murmured and Louis was a bit shocked at the slight spark of gloom in the boy’s cerulean eyes.

“…Sometimes I wonder if they didn’t know…or if they wanted me to die that day, you know?” and he chuckled as he watched his hands with spacey eyes; the memories rushing back and hitting hard.

His voice broke.

And his eyes watered; only a little but it was visible to Louis and he couldn’t stop the look of shock from emerging n his face.

“Because they never came back and I remember them laughing when they knocked me out the van, too. Maybe they never wanted me.”

_Knocked me out the van._

_“They abandoned him. Just like that.”_

Louis wasn’t sure how to reply to Niall when the tears began to trickle down the younger’s cheeks and he’d watch as Niall attempted to wipe them away, meekly and effortlessly as they only would flow again and just as much as the first.

And Louis had always remembered that this was the first time he had ever seen Niall Horan; smiley, carefree, happy-go-lucky Niall Horan ever do so much as frown let alone cry.

He was a bit clueless at what to say because, up until now, it had always been Niall’s job to hug him and wipe his tears and hold his hand when things got too tough to handle so he was clumsy when he pulled Niall into an awkward hug, eyes on anything other than Niall as the boy wrapped his little arms around Louis’ middle and sobbed.

He felt odd doing this but he pulled Niall closer, lying his head on top of his as the boy sobbed out unintelligible sentences and Louis patted his hair just like his mom used to his.

It always helped him.

_“They never wanted me…”_

_“…They’re not worth it.”_

And Louis didn’t care about his tear-soaked shirt when Niall had finally stopped and fallen asleep on Louis’ chest.

He just knew that this shouldn’t have been his job; and that he’d make sure it didn’t happen a second time.

\--

_“I grew to thinking I was a project for Niall. I never minded, though, because he made me smile in a place like that. I never wanted to call it a friendship; even a relationship. Just a job or a project but I guess I was just still not ready to get attached anymore. Because everything I ever got attached to got taken away.”_

\--

“You keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck.”

Louis snarled at Niall from his cot. He was taller now, he noticed, and even though Niall was only thirteen, Louis thought he seemed much older than that. Because he didn’t act thirteen (the majority of the time). Obviously, he wasn’t mature enough to quit pranking the nuns with Harry and he still did stupid things like cinnamon challenges and still laughed at toilet humor but, at the end of the day, he wasn’t little anymore.

And maybe Louis was the only one who saw it; he was the only one who needed to.

Harry didn’t have to hear Niall constantly try to bring up his self-esteem and Zayn didn’t need the boy’s smile to get him through the day and Liam didn’t need Niall to wrap his arms around his sleeping for to calm the nightmares.

Louis was the only exception.

And, at this point, he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for it or if he was merely being a burden in Niall’s life.

It’s been going on for seven years now; surely Niall must’ve been sick of him; hated him even.

_Just like Dad_

 “And what about you?” Louis retorted. “Your face will be stuck in that damn stupid smile of yours.” And Louis flashed Niall an exaggerated wide smile, screwing his face up into the ugliest ways he knew how as he showed off all his teeth in an effort to mock the younger boy’s signature grin, earning a laugh from the other.

He knew what he did didn’t do Niall justice; because Louis could never even hope to flash a genuine smile out of pure instinct and make it look as stunning as Niall so he just made it ugly; he didn’t know much else.

“Is that how my smile looks to you?” Niall asked skeptically, walking into the room because he was allowed to do that without asking; that he wouldn’t receive a glare if he did things like this.

“That’s how your face looks to me.” Louis murmured but it didn’t go unnoticed by Niall who gave him an amused smirk.

_Not really._

“Ass.” He remarked, sitting down on Louis’ bed.

And its been seven years since Niall walked through the towering gates of St. Christopher’s; and seven years since he first called Louis’ eyes “pwetty” (because he says it correctly now and says it everyday); and seven years since he forced Louis into making a lego castle.

Seven years since Louis actually trusted a person.

He guessed that was supposed to mean something.

“You coming out of your room today or no?” Niall questioned and Louis shrugged.

He really didn’t know anymore because, even now, he was still reluctant to leave his comfort zone; he didn’t like being around too many people and he didn’t like talking or playing around with anyone other than Niall because he still wasn’t ready to let go.

So just like everyday, he shook his head no.

And he could see the disappointment in Niall’s eyes at his answer and, if he could, he’d change it.

But Niall just lied down on his cot casually, pulling up a magazine from Cher’s bed nearby.

“So you wanna lie down?” he asked.

“…With you?” Louis questioned, eyes wide and Niall nodded like it was so normal for them to lie down that close; the make shift bed wasn’t that big after all.

And to Louis’ dread, Niall patted the small space he had left to let Louis know it was okay.

Louis’ mind raced as he lied down beside Niall, face reddening as he had to place his head on the smaller boy’s shoulder due to the lack of room and his senses were filled with the smell of Niall’s citrus shampoo and he felt warm for once in this bed.

And while Louis had a mini-panic attack, Niall just held the magazine up for them to both see and flipped a page to laugh at the picture that was on it. And at the moment, Louis didn’t know what this would lead to and he was too stubborn to admit any of this actually made him happy so he stayed silent as Niall flipped through pages.

“…You really shouldn’t be doing any of this for me.”

“Hm?” Niall glanced at Louis with a puzzled expression.

Louis gulped as he continued nervously, saying what’s been on his mind since Niall first spoke to him and more.

“I’m really not worth it. I haven’t even done anything to pay you back and—“

“Pay me?”

Niall’s tone was disbelieving; shocked even as he looked at Louis with furious baby blue eyes.

“You think I’m doing this as a service?” he questioned and Louis’ eyes lowered at the statement because it was true; its always been what he’s assumed this relationship to be.

Because the nuns did this as a service; they only fed him because that’s what orphanages did; that’s why they clothed him; and gave him a bed; and talk to him like they were his mother.

Because it was all a job.

Why would Niall be any different?

“…I don’t think people would do anything like this for someone like me willingly.” Louis replied truthfully and he and Niall locked gazes for a split second; and Louis could read every emotion flashing across Niall’s eyes; shock, anger; confusion.

And Louis’ was blank.

Because its always been blank.

Because those scars on his back were ugly and took away from his pretty eyes.

Because they reminded him of how much a person had hated him.

They reminded him of a person who loved him; and then died for him.

Louis didn’t think he was worth someone like Niall; never Niall.

So he forced a weak smile as he rolled off the bed, murmuring a low “see ya” as Niall sat there, stunned.

“You can stop now; I’m happy enough.”

And the door shut.

\--

_“Of course it wouldn’t have stopped there. Niall was an idiot; plain and simple. But, being an idiot is what got him through to me I suppose. He didn’t give up; I’ll tell you that. I still thought of it as a service…or so I’d like to believe. I’m not sure what made me actually see for once.”_

_\--_

It was hard to look at him since then.

When Louis said Niall could stop; he meant it.

And it wasn’t for Louis’ benefit at all; no it was for Niall’s because he deserved it—it was his payment. Louis knew that he still didn’t understand—and most likely never would with that hard head of his—but he was sure, it’d be worth it in the end, even if his reasoning was based on his opinions only. So he let it stay that way for a year.

A very long year.

A year filled with nightmares and tears that he didn’t know he cried until he felt them in the morning because no one was there to calm them; and entire days spent in room 13 unmoving in that cold white makeshift bed because Louis would never be comfortable here alone; and days where he’d stay mute so long, that people forgot he was there because he wasn’t laughing at Niall’s stupid jokes.

But Louis supposed it was worth it.

When he turned sixteen, he decided to leave finally.

And it was in the middle of December; the same day Niall had arrived to the orphanage, he noted, and Niall often deemed it his birthday because no one ever told him his real one; no one knew his real one. And there wasn’t a blizzard and it was rather pleasant around the orphanage, Liam suggesting decorations and Christmas traditions because none of them really had any in the orphanage; maybe they’d give you a dinner and one cheap gift a child but they never went all out. It never made a difference to Louis so he decided he could miss it.

Besides, Niall looked to be having fun.

His laughter echoed through the empty halls as he and Harry raced down the halls with ornaments for the tree Zayn and Matt helped pick out and bring home and Louis didn’t even speak when the boy passed him.

They didn’t talk anymore, really.

 And maybe that was good.

_“Are you sure about this Louis?”_

_“Yeah, I want to leave now. No point in staying anymore.”_

_\--_

_“He was the only one who stopped me. I think that’s what scared me the most at the time; and made me happy. I guess Niall leaves that effect.”_

_\--_

“Are you leaving now?”

“Can’t wait for me to go?” Louis replied cheekily to Niall and he flashed him a sweet smile; slightly bitter and forced and Niall didn’t return it as he watched the boy pack another bag, leaning against the doorframe.

“…Why?” he questioned, voice unnaturally monotone and a bit chilling to Louis.

Not that he’d admit it.

“Because I hate this place.” It was a simple answer Louis hoped he’d accept.

“Do you hate me?”

Louis paused for a moment, still not-yet folded clothes in his arms at Niall’s statement and he was grateful Niall couldn’t see the obvious aggravation that was on it before he answered.

And his answer was a dirty, cold, and forced lie that he hated himself for.

“…Yeah, I hate you, too.”

And it was silent after that; the only sound in the room the ones of the winter wind whistling outside of the long glass windows and Louis lip quivered slightly as he threw another stack of clothes in the bag.

As if nothing happened.

As if they were strangers.

As if Niall had never done anything to leave any sort of effect on Louis.

It was an odd feeling.

“So, that’s it, huh? You hate me?”

“…I always have. I told you thanks for being my friend but you don’t have to try anymore, okay?”

Louis’ tone was stern when he spoke and he refused to turn around and face Niall as he swung the bag across his shoulder nonchalantly.

He kept his head down as he passed by Niall to get out the door; his bangs hid his red puffy eyes and his arms only shook slightly with the weight of the bag.

And it seemed like slow motion when Niall’s hand slapped down on his wrist and yanked him back into the room with surprising force for a fourteen year old boy and, all of a sudden, Niall’s face was buried in his chest, his cold fingers clinging and digging into his thick coat.

Louis’ eyes were wide as Niall spoke.

“Don’t leave. Even if you hate me; and you hate the orphanage. Don’t leave. This was never a job for me.”

Niall could hear Louis’ heartbeat as he made his next move.

Their lips collided like cars and Louis felt everything; every single detail he recalled about spending time with Niall he could see; and he could feel the scars stinging on his back; and he could hear his mother and Lottie; and he could see Niall’s smile as it grew over the years.

He didn’t return the kiss; but he didn’t pull away either.

And it still wasn’t home.

But Niall was here.

So it was kind of okay.

\--

_“Home is wherever Niall is.”_

\--


End file.
